


The Years of Settling

by shadowsamurai



Series: The Affinity Chronicles [4]
Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 4 of The Affinity Chronicles shows Boyd and Grace's relationship as it crumbles because they are apart. The Years of Settling will feature tales from the day they stop talking to how their lives develop without each other. Join Boyd and Grace through the hardest stage of their journey, where they learn that there really is nothing more important than friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Influence From a Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Contains specific spoilers for S5 episodes, especially Eps 3 & 4, 'Black Run, Parts 1 & 2'.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

 

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Boyd slammed his apartment door shut with more force than was necessary, only dimly noting that it rattling on its hinges. He knew the neighbours would complain, but in that moment, he didn't care. He was furious, not only with the situation, but with himself.

Boyd had known from the minute he joined CID, from the second he started working with DI Eddie Vine, that something was amiss. The whole department seemed far too laid back for Boyd's liking; for some reason, he had always imagined policing to be more straight-laced.

His suspicions had been confirmed when Vine announced a quick stop after a job, before they went back to the station. Boyd had watched as the DI went into a shop, got some cigarettes, and came back out with a wad of money. Vine got into the car and held Boyd's gaze for a second. When the younger man said nothing, Vine stuffed the money in his pocket and drove off.

This continued for a while. Sometimes Boyd would stay in the car, sometimes he'd go in with Vine, presumably to look menacingly. Vine on his own wasn't anything to be scared of, but Boyd had noticed a lot of people glanced warily at him. He'd filled out a lot, making use of the police gym to build his fitness level up, and his dark eyes seemed cold and hard to many. Only one person knew that not to be true, and Boyd preferred not to think about her.

On the day in question, the day Boyd's apartment door was so harshly abused, Vine had given him an envelope. There were no words involved; Boyd's acceptance or decline was all the answer Vine needed. Without being completely sure what it was, Boyd took it. It was only on the way home he realised what he had done.

Now he sat in his apartment, holding five thousand pounds in his hands, knowing it was probably more money than he would make in a year. He wasn't stupid enough to say he wasn't tempted, but he didn't know whether he wanted to compromise his integrity.

Unable to reach a decision, Boyd stuffed the money back in his jacket and tried simply to forget about it. For days he wandered around with five grand in his pocket, and for days his guilt grew.

Then one day, he heard on the radio that the police had arrested someone for a series of murders. Tony Greene was the first person to be caught using psychological profiling, and it was all thanks to Dr Grace Foley.

Boyd couldn't help the surge of pride at hearing his friend's name, but when he went to call her, he found he couldn't. He simply couldn't talk to her and hide the guilt in his voice. So instead of being one of the first to congratulate her, Boyd just said nothing. He didn't make an effort to try and contact Grace, or even find her, knowing she was back in London.

That day, when he got home from work, Boyd took a pan out and lit the stove. Then he took the money out, and steeling himself, lit each single note and dropped it in the pan, watching as it all turned to ash.

He knew it was Grace's influence, even from afar, that had made him do it, and he knew she would be proud of him. But that knowledge turned to ashes along with the money, because Boyd also knew Grace would never find out.

His silence would push her away, distance himself from her. Boyd wondered if it was deliberate; after they had last spoken, was it any wonder if it was? But he didn't realise that Grace's silence was adding to the problem. Little did Boyd know that Grace was trying to distance herself from him too.

TBC


	2. Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific spoilers for S5, Eps 8 & 9, 'Straw Dog, Parts 1 & 2'.

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Grace sat curled up on her couch, a blanket pulled tightly around her in an attempt to ward off the chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. She hated her surroundings, the décor of her apartment, and she hated her job. But most of all, she was furious with herself for being sucked into the trap so easily.

Grace didn't think of herself as particularly naïve, but the way Harry Taylor had treated her, and the way she had let him, made her think otherwise. Not once during the case did she have any idea that he was married; not during their late night talks, not during their celebratory drink at having caught the killer, not even after the case was done and they were just tying up loose ends. Until Taylor uttered the words 'I'm married', Grace had no idea whatsoever that she was being played.

The ecstatic glow she had felt at having secured a conviction on her first case soon turned to ashes because of Taylor's deception. Grace hugged the cushion closer to her. As if his deceit wasn't bad enough, the problem had to compound itself; she had been pregnant with his child.

Grace shivered as she remembered yelling at him, telling him to leave her. The worst part was, he did. She thought he might have come back, but when she turned up to work the next day, Grace was told DS Taylor was having a few days personal time. Just enough time, Grace quickly calculated, for her to have finished her paperwork and left. That told her everything she needed to know.

As soon as she had finished, Grace made the appointment, still hoping, foolishly, that Taylor would turn up on her doorstep and admit that he'd made a mistake. Admit that he loved her and had lied about having a wife. But lying on the trolley, feeling detached from her body, Grace knew it would never happen.

Three weeks had passed since that time, since she had the abortion, and she was still suffering. She was already thirty; she didn't know if she would have another chance at having a family.

When the tears started to fall, Grace didn't try to stop them. She'd given up wiping them away, not caring if they made permanent tracks down her skin. She had been so stupid, and now she didn't know if there was any way to repair the damage. But it wasn't Taylor she was thinking of; it was Boyd.

The last words Grace had spoken to her lifelong friend had been ones of hate, that, while justifiable at the time, were still said in the heat of the moment. But too much time had passed now to try and make amends, and that was what hurt the most.

And that was why Grace was crying.

TBC


	3. Births, Deaths and Marriages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild spoilers for S1, especially 'Every Breath You Take'.

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"Peter," Nick Patterson called.

"Yeah?"

"You got any beer in this fridge, or is it just deli food?"

Boyd laughed. "There's some beer in there somewhere."

"Yeah, but where?" Nick replied.

Boyd came into the kitchen, rummaged around on the bottom shelf and brought out two bottles. "There, right in front of you, you blind git. Anything else you want to grumble about or are we going to watch the football?"

Nick opened his bottle and took a long drink of beer. "Why've you got all that stuff in there?"

Boyd stared at the TV. "No reason," he mumbled.

"Come on, tell me!" Nick said, grinning from ear to ear. "No, better still, let me guess…you're pregnant and you're getting weird cravings!"

Boyd grabbed a cushion and smacked his friend with it. "You're an idiot," he muttered. "How old are you again?"

"Okay, so not pregnant," Nick continued regardless. "In that case, it's got to be a woman."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Nick looked surprised. "Really? It's a woman?"

"Yeah. Work's in the deli."

"No shit, Sherlock," Nick retorted, shaking his head. "So what, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"

"It would be if she knew," Boyd replied, watching the game.

"Hang on," Nick said, turning to face his friend properly. "Are you telling me you haven't asked her out yet? How well do you know her?"

"Her name's Mary, she's never been married, and I could recite her working hours if you really wanted me to," Boyd told him. "And I know where she lives because I followed her."

Nick shook his head. "You're weird. Why not just ask her out?"

Boyd shrugged. "I don't know."

"You obviously like her. Don't tell me you're scared."

"Are we watching the football or having a therapy session?" Boyd snapped.

"Both," Nick retorted, unfazed by his friend's quick temper.

Boyd sighed. "You're a pain in the arse."

"Just like you. Pains together. Remember how much trouble we caused when we were training?"

"Yeah." Boyd sighed again, sadly this time. "Life was simpler back then."

"Is this about Grace?" Nick asked. Boyd had told him about his friendship with her and how they had stopped talking.

"I suppose. A little, yeah. She's my best friend, Nick, and I haven't spoken to her in nearly two years."

"Why don't you?"

"She hates me, and I don't blame her. And saying sorry has never been easy."

"So move on, man," Nick said. "Ask this Mary out and just see where it goes. You don't have to marry her, you know."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*6 months later….*

*"What?"* Nick exclaimed, spitting beer everywhere.

Boyd scowled. "That's not exactly the reaction I was looking for you."

"Well, shit, Peter, I'm sorry, but you've only been seeing this woman for five minutes…."

"Five months."

"Whatever. All I'm saying is it's a bloody short time to know someone and then to be getting married!" Nick yelled.

"She's pregnant," Boyd said quietly.

Nick's mouth worked up and down but no sound came out for a while. "How do you know it's yours?"

Immediately he regretted having spoken, but it was too late. The only thing that stopped Nick from having a broken nose was Boyd's phone ringing.

"Hello?" he answered sullenly while glaring at Nick. Then Boyd paled and his voice altered. "Yes. Yes, I understand. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"What is it?" Nick asked quietly.

"My mum's died."

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*Another 6 months later….*

"You're almost there," Boyd said encouragingly to his wife. "Almost there. One more push."

"If…you…say…that…once more!" Mary screamed. "I will…kill you!"

Boyd grinned at her. "One more push, darling."

"ARGH!"

Suddenly the sound of crying filled the room, and Boyd wiped Mary's face gently. "There, see?"

"Don't you *dare* say I told you so, Peter Timothy Boyd," she all but growled.

"If it's a boy, we are *not* calling him that," Boyd replied firmly.

"It is a boy," the nurse said gently, handing the baby to his mother.

Mary smiled down at the bundle. "A boy, Peter. We have a son."

Boyd felt tears prick his eyes but he refused to cry. "Now we have to name him."

"What about Luke?"

"I like Joe."

Mary looked down at the baby, who was now, incredibly, sleeping. "Joe. Joe Boyd." She nodded. "I like it too."

"I'll go and register him, if you want," Boyd said.

Mary nodded again. "I'll be here when you get back."

Boyd kissed her and brushed his lips gently across Joe's head, noting he had that unique baby smell about him. "I won't be long."

But instead of going to the registry office, Boyd headed outside, desperate for some fresh air and a quiet place to sit for a while. Finding a suitable corner of the car park, he hunkered down, put his head in his hands and cried. His parents hadn't lived long enough to see the birth of their first grandchild, and Grace had stopped talking to him before she could consent to being godmother.

Boyd should have been happy, but he was miserable and worst of all, he felt alone.

TBC


	4. Bad Blood

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The sun was shining brightly and the sky was as clear as crystal. Most people thought it should have been raining, but Grace preferred the weather the way it was. Her mother had never been a shining beacon of light as such in her life, and so the sunshine served to drive away the bad memories, leaving only the good.

Grace had been expecting the call for years really, ever since her mother went through the divorce with her father. It had been a bloody affair and Grace had helped as much as she could, though she was busy with work and getting papers published. Elizabeth Boyd had been the one to support Mary, and Grace was extremely grateful for that help. Elizabeth had also been the one to phone her with the bad news.

Grace was just starting to put her life back in order after Harry Taylor had dismantled it so easily; she promised herself no one would ever take advantage of her again. No one else would make her feel so weak and powerless.

That was until her father showed up at her mother's funeral. With Elizabeth's help, Grace had organised everything and not even give William a second thought. She noticed him loitering unabashedly at the back of the small congregation and when the service was over, Grace marched straight up to him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall dark haired man some distance away, presumably at another grave, and Grace imagined it was Boyd. The thought of him gave her strength to deal with her father.

"I've got a right to be here," William replied, his breath laced with stale booze.

Grace wrinkled her nose and didn't try to hide her disgust. "No, you don't."

"She was my wife."

"You were divorced, for crying out loud!" Grace exclaimed. "Or did you conveniently forget about that?"

"Don't talk to me like that," William told her firmly. "I'm still your father."

"Not by choice," Grace snapped back. "I never want to see you again."

William waited until she'd gone a few steps before saying, "Isn't that what you told that Boyd boy?"

Grace, predictably, stopped and turned slowly. "How do you know about that?"

"Gossip. Always said he was too good for you."

"He was far better for me than you ever believed," Grace said, hating the tears welling up inside her.

William sneered. "He was a sponger, just like his father. He'd have married you and then divorced you when you were famous, just so he'd get half the money."

Grace stared incredulously at her father. "What the hell are you talking about? You know something, I don't know you! I thought my father was a wonderful man. Maybe long ago you were. Now you're just a sad old drunk who's going to die alone. And you know what? When that day comes, the only thing I'll do is jump for joy."

Without waiting for a reply, Grace strode off, holding her breath in the hopes it would stop the tears. It did, but only for a while. She stopped and took several deep breaths.

"Here," a deep voice said, pushing a handkerchief into her hands.

Grace looked up through blurry eyes. "Peter?" she asked, more hoping than believing.

The man smiled. "No, sorry. But if seeing him would make you smile, I can be Peter. Is that your husband?"

Grace smiled back. "No, no, he's just…never mind. Thank you."

"That's alright. Funerals can be difficult, especially if there's bad blood in the family."

"Yes, they can be." Grace wiped her eyes and looked up at the man more clearly. He had a pleasant face, round and open, with friendly blue eyes. "Would you like me to wash this for you?"

The man laughed. "No, you can keep it. I have plenty more."

"Thank you," Grace repeated. "You must think me awfully rude."

"Not at all."

"My name is Grace Foley."

The man held his hand out. "James Matterson. Nice to meet you."

"And you," Grace replied, shaking the proffered limb. His hands were soft and warm, and she found herself holding on longer than was entirely appropriate.

"Well, Grace, I hope I'll see you around," James said, smiling gently at her.

Sudden inspiration struck Grace. "I really would like to return this when it's clean," she told him, holding the handkerchief up. "But it might take a few days."

James regarded her for a few moments before taking his wallet out of his pocket and withdrawing a business card. "Give me a call."

"Thank you."

"I'll see you soon, Grace," James said, waving before walking off.

Grace watched him go and smiled to herself, thinking that maybe, finally, her luck was changing.

TBC


	5. Letters

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Boyd had never been good with words, whether it was spoken or written, but he kept trying. It had been six long years since that fateful incident with Grace, and Boyd couldn't shake the memory no matter how hard he tried. He had so much he wanted to tell her; his promotion to DS, his marriage to Mary, the birth of his son. So many little details of his life that Boyd wanted to share with his best friend, but he couldn't find the words.

He would sit in his tiny office almost every night, much to the annoyance of his wife. He would write 'Dear Grace' and usually not get any further. Sometimes, though, words would flow like the whisky he was drinking, and Boyd would scribble pages to his friend. The letters would be put into envelopes, sealed, and even addressed because he knew exactly where to find her. He was a policeman, after all, and Boyd knew Grace worked closely with the police.

He often found that the hardest thing to deal with. His path and Grace's must have crossed many times over the past few years; they would have been dealing with the same people, or in the same building at the same time, yet they always managed to avoid each other. Boyd hated how weak he was when it came to Grace; he hated the fact that he needed her, and hated his stubbornness even more because it was the one thing that was stopping him from talking to her.

The letters stacked up, and more than once Mary suggested throwing them away. Boyd would always tell her to mind her own business, and inevitably an argument would ensue. Boyd found it was far easier to be angry and yell at people than it was to be nice and patient; the days when he was like that all seemed like a far distant memory.

But no matter what else was in the letters, the beginning and the end, and the general message in the middle was always the same. *'I miss you.' 'I'm sorry.' 'Please forgive me.' 'Call me.'*

"Peter," Mary said from the doorway.

Boyd sighed and turned. "Yes?"

"Please don't say you're spending another night in here," she replied, frowning.

"It's important."

"So is your family. I'm sorry that you lost your best friend, Peter, but if you want to apologise so badly, go and see her."

Boyd shook his head. "She doesn't want to see me."

"And how do you know?" Mary walked into the room and put her hands on her husband's shoulders. "Peter, either try properly to make things right or let the whole thing go. You'll destroy yourself, not to mention this marriage, if you carry on like this. And no, I'm not threatening you so please don't fly off the handle at me. I'm just saying."

Boyd stared at the picture on his desk. It was recent, taken at Joe's third birthday. Boyd wasn't in the photo, nor was he the one behind the camera and suddenly he realised how much he had been neglecting his family.

"You're right, love." He opened the top drawer and took out all the letters he had written to Grace, dropping them into the deeper bottom drawer and covering them with papers. "I'm sorry."

Mary kissed him. "I'll let you off. Come on, there's a bottle of wine in the living room with our name on it."

TBC


	6. Pretty Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific spoilers for S5 Eps 11 & 12 'Cold Fusion, Parts 1 & 2'.

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Spencer Jordan stubbed his cigarette out angrily with the heel of his foot. He didn't want to be here but it was made clear he didn't have a choice. It was obvious that his superiors had concerns over his mental health because of what he saw at the firm; obvious in the fact that they told him that's what they thought.

So they had ordered him, quite firmly, to go and see a counsellor. Spencer didn't like the idea at all, but he wasn't about to let one incident ruin his life. Sighing, he knocked on the door. A pleasant female voice told him to enter and pushing the door open, he found himself surprised.

Firstly, the room was decorated more like someone's living room, with statues of Buddhas, fake flowers and paintings dotted around. Secondly, it smelt homely, not the bland - or worse, hospital - smell that most medical practices had. Thirdly, the woman whose room it was sat behind a desk, again an unusual move. And fourthly, and Spencer's greatest source of surprise, was the woman herself.

He guessed her to be in her mid to late thirties, but she wore the age well. Her hair was brown and worn down, coming to her shoulders, but it was her eyes that captivated him. They were a dark blue, turning to bright sapphire when the light caught them, but there was a deep sadness there that made him feel melancholy. She seemed like someone who had seen a lot and been put through even more, and for that brief second, Spencer thought he might actually be able to talk to her.

For her part, Grace had started analysing him before he even entered the room. She could smell the smoke coming through the door and had immediately moved a chair near to the window, sitting herself behind her desk, which wasn't the preferred position for a counsellor, but it put her furthest away from the smoke.

Then she took note of his knock. Short and sharp, almost angry. Grace knew PC Jordan didn't want to be there, talking to her. She also knew he was young and would therefore, most likely, have the standard amount of teenage anger left over in his body. She'd have to deal with that first.

Grace had deliberately not looked at the photo on Spencer's file, and only read the bare essentials about why he had been sent to her. She preferred to draw her own conclusions first and then read the 'official facts' later. So when Spencer walked into the room, she had been pleasantly surprised. His features were soft, as were his eyes, and Grace suspected that given the opportunity to smile more often, it would change his entire face. He was also well built, by nature and not so much by design, and he carried himself proudly.

Grace stood up and smiled, extending an arm. "Hello," she said. "My name's Grace."

Spencer took her hand and shook it very carefully. "Pleased to meet you."

Grace smiled inwardly and squeezed a little, letting him know she wasn't above using a little bit of force. "And you are…?"

Spencer's eyes never left hers. "You've read my file, you should know. I don't need to introduce myself, do I?"

Keen observational skills and a sharp mind; Grace planned to put both to use. "It's usually polite when people first meet each other," she replied, sitting down but not gesturing for him to do the same. He remained standing. "Unless, of course, I just write 'uncooperative' on your report."

That had the desired effect. "PC Spencer Jordan," he said grumpily.

Grace smiled at him. "Very nice to meet you, Spencer. Would you like to sit over there?" she asked, pointing to the chair near the window. "That way if you want to smoke, you won't suffocate me."

Spencer smiled back at that. "Thanks."

Grace waited until he was settled a little. "Look, Spencer, I'm not going to bullshit you. You don't want to be here, and I understand that. You don't need help; you can make it on your own. I admire that. To be perfectly honest, I don't want to be doing this. It's not my usual area; too tame for me, actually. So, we can either spend the next forty five minutes talking about the weather, your parents and what you plan to do at the weekend, or you can tell me exactly why you've been ordered to see me and what you see in your nightmares."

Spencer pulled his packet of cigarettes out, put one in his mouth and lit it slowly. "Are you this forward with all your patients, Dr Foley?" he asked eventually.

"Only with the ones I think it will work with," she replied. "And you can call me Grace."

"What makes you think it'll work with me?"

"Because if you tell me the problem straightaway, you won't have to come back to see me. If you want to piss about, your boss will have you here once of a week for the next year," Grace said bluntly.

Spencer was silent as he finished his cigarette, and while Grace appeared to be waiting patiently, inside she was fidgeting, wondering if she had pushed him too far. Then, after he had thrown the stub out of the window, he turned and started talking.

He told Grace how he and his partner, Tom McQueen, had been told to check out a disturbance. Inside, they found two dead people. One, the man, was lay with his head at an odd angle, his neck having been broken. That, Spencer admitted, didn't really bother him. It was the woman.

"I can't do into detail," Spencer said, "And it's got nothing to do with the job. I feel sick just thinking about it."

Grace nodded. "I understand, but you'll have to one day, Spencer. It's the only way you'll be able to move on."

"I know," Spencer replied. "But I don't think I'll ever totally move on. I mean, it was horrendous, the kind of thing you might see in war. Whoever did that to her is a sick bastard."

"Have you arrested someone?" Grace asked.

"Yes."

"Do you think he's guilty?"

"Yes."

"Do you think he's a sick bastard?"

"I think it's possible he did that to his wife," Spencer replied, and Grace knew his choice of words had been deliberate.

"Well, Spencer, I think you'll be fine. Your superiors are worrying over nothing," Grace said. "You've got the right attitude about this, and you're not under the illusion that one day everything will be fine." She smiled. "Very few people can understand that. I'm going to recommend that you stay on active duty, no personal time needed."

Spencer's face fell. "Really? Only I was hoping…."

Grace laughed at his boyishness. "If I sanction leave, they'll have you back here for more sessions. Not sanctioning leave is the lesser of two evils, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, I guess." Spencer stood and walked over to the desk. "Thanks, Grace."

Grace smiled as they shook hands. "Any time, Spencer. My door is always open to you."

"Thank you." He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, her voice stopped him.

"Who recommended that you come to me?" Grace asked. "I was serious before; I don't normally get these cases."

"A DS who was working temporarily in my nick."

Grace felt a cold ball form in her stomach. "Name?"

"DS Boyd. Why?"

Grace forced a smile. "Just curious. Take care, Spencer."

"Thanks. You too."

Grace went straight to the window, her eyes searching the car park below, and when she saw Spencer leave the building, she watched where he went. He climbed into the passenger seat of a car and while she couldn't see who was driving, she had a good idea of their identity.

"How'd it go?" Boyd asked as they drove off.

"Fine, sir," Spencer replied.

"Did Dr Foley give you a clean bill of health?"

Spencer nodded. "Yes, sir." He stared out of the window. "I'll be scarred for life by what I saw, sir. No amount of counselling will ever change that."

"I understand that, Spence," Boyd said sincerely, his deep voice rumbling.

"Grace was nice," Spencer suddenly announced. "I liked her. She's good at her job."

Boyd just nodded in polite agreement. "That's what I've heard. That's why I recommended you see her and not the normal shrink. As shrinks go, she's pretty alright."

Spencer smiled. "Thank you, sir. And you're right. She is alright."

TBC


	7. Goodnight, Sweetheart

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Grace pushed the front door open, dropping her bag on the floor and hanging her coat up before kicking it shut again. The sounds the house was making grated on her nerves after a long day at work and she closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths, the light in the hallway glinting off her wedding ring.

"You look like you need this."

Grace opened her eyes to see James smiling back at her, holding out a glass of wine. "Thank you."

He leant in and kissed her briefly on the cheek. "Dinner'll be ready in about ten minutes. The guys are upstairs attacking their homework."

Grace smiled back. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You say that like it's a good thing," James replied, heading back to the kitchen.

"Isn't it?"

"Maybe. And it's your turn to cook tomorrow."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Do you want to draw up some sort of rota?"

James nodded. "I think we should make the kids do everything."

"We've only just started paying the mortgage on this place," Grace replied, laughing. "Let's not wreck it just yet."

As James finished dinner, Grace took the time to watch him and thank her lucky stars that things had finally started to look up for her. After her mother's funeral, she had waited an unreasonable amount of time before contacting James, only because she was busy with sorting Mary's belongings and then with work. Once she did talk to him, though, Grace could see it was the beginning of something.

They met for coffee to start with, graduating to lunches and finally proper dinner dates. Grace learnt that James was a widower with two children, a boy and a girl, to bring up. It was his wife's grave he had been visiting that day in the cemetery. His son, Andrew, was five and a quarter, and his daughter, Jackie, was six and a half; the fractions, James told Grace, was very important.

Meeting James' children was the most nerve wracking thing Grace had ever had to do, but they were perfectly well behaved. Jackie, now seven, was very solemn, unsure of this new person who might take Mummy's place, but Grace soon won her over. Andrew, now five and three quarters, was a lot easier; he saw in Grace someone who would cuddle him all the time and that was what he aimed to get her to do.

Eventually, James and Grace married, with the blessing of James' children, and suddenly Grace found herself with the family she never thought she'd ever have the chance of enjoying. It was always at the back of her mind that they weren't her children, but she never let it get in the way of the love she felt for them.

Dinner was, as always, a noisy affair, and afterwards Grace helped Jackie finish her homework while James washed up with Andrew's supervision. Soon tucking in time came around, and Grace offered to do it. James looked surprised; normally it was his job, only because Grace insisted. But he smiled and nodded.

Grace tucked the children in, taking the time to read them a story about dragons, wizards, magic and heroes. They were fast asleep before she had finished the story, but she carried on anyway, just enjoying being with them and the peaceful expressions on their faces.

"Goodnight, darlings," Grace murmured as she kissed them both on the forehead.

As she went back downstairs to her husband, Grace paused and looked up at the ceiling, imagining the star-laden sky above it. It had been a while since she had thought about Boyd; after the incident with PC Jordan, Grace had given hope of ever seeing him or bumping into him somewhere. As difficult as it was, she steeled herself to the loss and moved on. But that night, so some unknown reason, Boyd filled her thoughts and her heart.

Sighing sadly, Grace whispered, "Goodnight, sweetheart," to the hidden sky and carried on back down the stairs.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Mary stood in the study doorway, her arms folded across her chest. "You should apologise to your son."

Boyd looked at her in disbelief. "Why should I apologise? He shouldn't have been in here!"

"He's only six, Peter," Mary told him. "Please try to have a little more patience with him."

"Mary, I do have patience with him, but when I'm trying to work…."

"Oh, I forgot, your bloody work," she snapped.

"Yes, my bloody work that brings the money in allowing us to have a roof over our heads and food on the goddamn table!"

Mary threw her arms up in the air in exasperation. "Why does it always have to come down to that? I look after *our* son, which is what you wanted! Try to remember that, Peter. I stay here and look after the home, and Joe is your son as well." She turned and walked away before Boyd could reply.

He sat and glared at the empty space where his wife had just been, the anger seeping out of him slowly. He knew she was right, he knew he had a temper on him, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd tried, he kept trying, but nothing seemed to help.

Sighing, Boyd stood and trudged upstairs. Joe was still awake and almost terrified at the sight of his father, but after Boyd had apologised and tried to explain things, and then given up and read a story instead, Joe was in a much better mood.

"Love you, Daddy," he said sleepily.

Boyd smiled at him. "Goodnight, son."

Mary was already in bed and when Boyd climbed under the sheets, she said, "Well?"

"I'm sorry. And I apologised to Joe."

Mary turned over and snuggled into Boyd's side. "You're hard work sometimes, you know," she said affectionately.

"I know."

But as he lay there, Boyd's mind was anywhere but with his family. He didn't want to pinpoint the source of his anger; he didn't want to admit the truth. But staring into the darkness, Boyd knew it was lack of Grace in his life that was eating at him. He wondered where she was, what she was doing with her life, and if she was happy.

Sighing, Boyd whispered, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Mary, not privy to the thoughts in her husband's head, thought she was talking to her. "Goodnight, Peter," she replied.

Boyd decided not to correct her.

FIN


End file.
